Chapter 15
Jett
Levi
Everyone survive the storm last night?
Davis
All’s well at the cabin.
Heath
Things are fine in town…tornado touched down not far from Riggsby Cattle. Luckily it only hit an older barn that hasn’t been used. A lot of trees and fence lines.
Baker
Hunkered down at Greer’s, everything is fine on our end of town.
Heath
Anyone else hunker down with a special lady friend?
Levi
Shouldn’t we be asking you?
Heath
You know I was at work all night.
Davis
Riggsby’s quiet…
Jett Riggsby has left the group chat
Heath Pierce has added Jett Riggsby to the group chat
Heath
HA! I knew it!
You don’t know shit. There’s cleanup to be done if anyone is around.
Heath
Clearly someone needs some action…
Levi
I’ll head over this afternoon.
Thanks, man. I have group this morning.
Heath
Get the dirt, Welles!
Levi
*thumbs up emoji*
Jett Riggsby has left the group chat
The smell of strongly brewed coffee greets me as I step inside the American Legion.
Instead of drinking the bitter brew, I stopped at Shoreline Sips for a large cup to go.
It’s a little after nine, and I feel like I’ve lived a thousand lives already.
My four-thirty alarm went off quicker than I wanted.
After downing a mug of coffee, I set out in the dark to run four miles before showering and driving to the farm, where I tackled a list of tasks: returning calls, herding calves, finalizing purchase orders, and cutting down branches.
Last night’s storm wreaked havoc on the surrounding area. The wind destroyed a few trees, and we had to cut down broken branches. Only a few fence posts were screwed up from the high wind. We made it out lucky.
A confirmed tornado touched down a mile from Drummond Farms. And I can’t get it out of my head.
The idea of her getting hurt, of being in harm’s way, does something to my insides.
Not to mention, the hate-fuck she initiated.
Holy shit, watching Wren go all femme domme was the hottest thing I’ve ever witnessed.
She made sure I knew it was a one-time thing—we’ll see—and she was riding me for her benefit only, as if I didn’t reap any rewards.
Climbing the steps to the small loft area of the Legion, I pick an empty seat where folding chairs are centered in a circle. I’m early, but the rest of the group should be arriving shortly.
Digging in my pocket, I pull out my phone to find a slew of messages: another buyer interested in fifty head of cattle, a Columbus barbecue place wanting to be supplied, broken fences on the east pasture, and my grandma asking if I’ll be at dinner.
Life as a farmer never ends, but my bi-monthly Tuesdays at nine-thirty are my time.
It’s the only time I’m completely selfish with my appointments.
As more people file in, the room begins to hum with low chatter and the sound of metal chairs scraping on the floor. Group therapy is held at the American Legion, before opening, but it's open to anyone sixteen and older from the surrounding area, not just veterans.
“Morning, let’s get started,” Margo Hughes says, settling into her chair and adjusting her wire-rimmed glasses.
She retired from human resources at one of the local factories and took online courses and seminars to learn how to be a group facilitator.
Margo started this group before I moved back to Silo Bay, after her husband passed away.
There’s something about her presence and no-bullshit personality that speaks to me. Somehow, she manages to get people in these hard-ass chairs twice a month to discuss our feelings.
“Good morning, everyone,” Margo starts. “If you’re new or a returning guest, we welcome you. Before we get started, please make sure all phones are silenced, and as a reminder, what's shared stays in this group.”
Her gaze rotates around the circle, where people in every stage of life sit anxiously waiting to see who will be the lucky—or unlucky—person she calls on to lead the session.
A soft smirk tugs at her wrinkled lips, her eyes suggesting she knows exactly what happened last night.
Maybe there’s a thought bubble above my head, screaming, I had sex with my ex.
“Jett, it’s been a while since we’ve heard from you. Why don’t you start today’s meeting?”
I rub my hands down my jeans, the callouses catching on the denim as I take a deep breath. “Where should I begin?”
She shrugs. “Wherever you’d like. This is your time to talk while we listen without judgment.”
Without judgment. She definitely knows something happened…
My throat goes dry. I’ve never been one to share how I’m feeling. Emotions are meant to be kept inside. I come to these sessions to not feel alone. Shifting in my seat, I take off my cap, running my fingers through my hair before placing it back on my head.
“I’m—I’m doing fine,” I answer, taking a sip of my coffee.
Margo quirks her eyebrow before giving a don’t bullshit me expression.
I sigh, shuffling in my seat until my elbows are resting on my knees. If I’m going to share my thoughts, I’m going to be relaxed while doing it.
“I’ve been better,” I grumble, and a few heads nod as if they understand exactly what I mean.
“It’s been an interesting twenty-four hours with the storm blowing through, but last night, I did something, and I’m not sure if I was foolish or brave.”
No one says anything as they give me a second to process and sort through my thoughts.
I glance down at my boots, the leather scuffed and worn on my Ariats. Mud still clings to the soles from this morning in the field.
“Last night, with the storm coming, I knew I needed to get to the farm. I needed to make sure that everything was secure, but when I was driving past their secondary drive, I…” My words trail off as my throat tightens. “I couldn’t escape the feeling that she needed me more.”
“Wren?” Margo asks softly, and I give a terse nod. “Why did you think she needed you?”
And there’s the million-dollar question. Why do I think Wren needs me now? It’s been ten years since we were us. I left, and she moved away. She found another man, and I never forgot her.
“I’ve been telling myself it was because of the storm. She’s staying in the tiny cottage on their property without any shelter from tornadoes, and I wanted to make sure she was safe.”
“I’m not sure that’s everything. What do you think?”
I nod again. “Rafe didn’t get the chance to see his wife and kids again. A part of me feels like this is my second chance. That she came back into my life for a reason, and I owe it to myself, to Rafe, to try again.”
“Rafe is your friend who didn’t make it home, correct?”
My throat burns as images of Rafe lying in my arms, losing his fight, flash in my mind. Emotion clogs my throat. I nod again.
The circle stays quiet—too quiet. The hum of the ice machine downstairs is the only sound. I hate silence.
Images swirl in my mind as I take shallow breaths. The way Wren looked at me, the things she said, how she touched me, and all the things she’s keeping close to her chest. She still carries the weight of our history on her shoulders, as do I, and I want to lessen the load.
“What load?” Margo asks. Apparently, I said the inside thought out loud.
“The load she’s carrying.” I shift in my seat once more.
I’m unable to sit still as the pressure of being in the spotlight builds.
“I hadn’t been that close to her in years.
And suddenly, there we were, waiting out the tornado warning together.
I could see the pain and secrets she’s trying to keep hidden behind her haunted eyes. ”
Margo hums, crossing her arms over her chest.
“I’ve fought wars and lost brothers. I saw things that’ll never leave me, but standing there with her, seeing the pain behind her eyes”—my voice cracks—“it gutted me even worse.”
“You’ve got to talk to her, my boy,” Bob says, three chairs over.
I turn my attention to the older gentleman and wait for him to continue.
“This is your second chance. Take it from an old man who spent his ninety years alone because he was too afraid to tell the woman he had a crush on for years that he was in love with her. Now she’s gone, and I’m waiting for my turn. ”
My chest aches, old wounds bleeding fresh. Bob reaches into his pocket and pulls out a white hanky before blowing his nose.
“Time is precious, son. You have the time now to make things right. Talk to her, share your truths, and give her the chance to share hers, especially if she’s as haunted by the past as you claim. Then give her time to process, but not too much time.”
“That’s very wise, Bob,” Margo praises before her eyes catch mine. “There’s more to last night, isn’t there? We’ve talked in the past about your experience with storms. What was last night’s like?”
I swallow hard, jaw tightening. “Storms drag up a bunch of shit I try to keep buried. The claps of thunder and flashes of lightning always send me back to Afghanistan.”
Another older man nods. He fought in Vietnam, so he gets it.
“I spent years over there, but storms always pull me back to that night. The night I lost him.” I speak quieter, weighed down with guilt.
“Rafe was my best friend. We were on an assignment, surveillance, when our cover was blown. We were ambushed as bullets rained over us. I tried to warn him, to scream at him to take cover, but…”
The memory hits hard and unrelenting—the weight of Rafe’s body, the smell of copper, the blood coating my hands as I tried to apply pressure to the wound while calling for help.
It was chaos, and for a few long moments, I didn’t think I was going to survive.
And when I prayed to a god I wasn’t sure existed, the only person I wanted was Wren.
I wanted to beg her to forgive me and to tell her she was the only woman I’d ever love.
“I came home, and he didn’t. The guilt eats me alive.”
Silence presses around the room again. It’s heavy and tangible.